


A Fish and a Cat

by King of Novices (mykonos)



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe, Falling In Love, Heavy Petting, Hint of Sexual Content, Language, M/M, Mermaids, Merman Desmond, Some Humor, body transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 03:31:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2176422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mykonos/pseuds/King%20of%20Novices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Shaun finds refuge beside the city lake, he doesn't expect to find a merman frolicking about in the water. Desmond is a merman who is a human first and foremost, but he morphs into his other body upon coming in contact with water. Can a fish and a cat trust each other by the end of the day?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fish and a Cat

**Author's Note:**

> Since my birthday is in a few days I decided to write fic gifts and I chose four requests. This is the second one.
> 
> Whatever I knew about mermen I pulled out of my own head, apologies.

* * *

 

 

A fish and a cat see water differently. Water to the fish is life and death to the cat.

 

* * *

 

 

Shaun loves cool mornings on a hot summer day, loves reading old books on new grass, loves sitting fully-clothed beside a large body of water, loves history but hates people.

Shaun also loves rain.

But this may have something to do with where he came from before he moved here, where rain was abundant and loneliness didn't seem as attractive as it seems these days.

So when a dark pall of clouds muffles the entire expanse of sky from zenith to horizon, Shaun doesn't flee the place as the handful of people around do, doesn't abandon his spot beneath a thrifty tree where he sits on his jacket and reads an ebook on his tablet. A gentle slope of grass leads down towards the rim of the huge lake that spreads in the outskirts of the city, far enough from it, yet near enough to see in the distance the blocks of buildings thrusting skywards.

The remaining people trickle away and Shaun watches them go, packs his tablet back into his bag languidly because his appetite for reading has waned, but his wont for solitude has not.

He spends a few moments in quietude gazing absently upon the body of water where the first droplets of rain begin to paint a rippling surface.

Until, in the corner of his vision, there is a rippling movement far too large to be induced by nature, and Shaun is quick to break from his reverie to turn his focus to the person he hasn't previously noticed.

He looks down at the spot beside the shore where grass simmers into a brownish soil immersed into water, watches a young man—not much younger than he—a stout man possessed of a strong body easy on the eye. And the reason Shaun is entrusted with this information is because this man is shedding his clothes like autumn leaves, until he stands there beside the lake, alone, and butt-naked.

Now, skinny dipping is something Shaun is fairly familiar with, skinny dipping in the rain is something he is familiar with, live soft erotica is something he is acquainted with (because a man needs something to get off to, after all), but what happens next is something Shaun is absolutely unacquainted with.

The man leaves the bundle of his clothes on the bank, on the rain, and submerges the lower half of his body—from waist down—into the lake while holding onto the rim. The depth is too profound to be a good staring point for a slow entrance (the lake is not meant as a swimming location to begin with), so the man backpedals, retreats onto the earthy ground to sit on his butt. Only there is no butt.

The _creature_ lifts its lower body, and there are no legs, no feet, but a tail layered in deep-blue scales that gradually lighten in color as they climb towards the upper half of human torso, stop below his belly.

The creature makes no sounds.

It keeps on submerging its tail and breaking through the surface with gentle splashes while human hands hold onto the ridge of the bank.

Shaun's shock is equally silent, but a shock still.

His heart pounds loud in his ears, pumps his body with adrenaline while he gawps at the scene. Yeah, no biggie. It's just a normal day and down there playing with water is just a nopefish and it can be found by the coasts of screwthatistan.

No biggie.

Shaun has a hint of vertigo as he rises from his sitting position, blinks through his vision to somewhat refresh it, but the image is very much the same. He throws a look around, in search for some hidden camera, a hidden set for a movie, one bloody indication that the display a short distance away down the knoll is real as the rain that gathers across his face and glasses now that he has left the cover of the tree.

Nothing holds Shaun back as he is carried forth and down the slope by the goading of his curiosity while a spark of fear is left standing behind, and he slithers down, step by step, until a squeak of his sneakers against the leaves of grass draws the creature's attention to Shaun's presence.

Shaun stops in his tracks, and for a wild moment they are eye-locked, not recognizing each other, a human curiosity and an alarmed otherness standing across each other in wary silence.

Shaun almost believes he has won some trust through the quiet inspection that goes both ways, but he is wrong.

The creature pushes away and into the water, disappears under the surface and rushes away in a speedy swim. It keeps itself underwater but close enough to the shore that Shaun can trace its movement as he launches into a chase from the land, running along with eyes intent and determined not to fail this pursue while there's still chance to catch up.

Shaun chases the bluish gleam gliding below the surface because the tail seems closer to it, until the gleam vanishes from his sight and the water current following the tail dies out leaving nothing behind but the steady drumming of rain.

Shaun stands there wet with the rain and drenched with disappointment, wheezing.

His glasses are layered in a spray of rain and he reaches up to wipe them off inelegantly, then leans his hands upon his knees and evens out his breathing, stares at the spot where the creature has disappeared.

He blinks, starts frantically searching the ground for something to throw before he picks up a decent-sized stone and flings it at the spot, hoping that maybe the creature is still there, hiding.

Shaun is too immersed into watching that spot to see in time the fast-approaching bluish gleam that heralds the majestic tail which breaches  the surface like a whale's to send a splash of water flying towards him.

Shaun gasps in a startle, soaked to bone.

He has no time to lament his poor condition because there are two hands clutching onto the bank with gripping fingers and a human head peeking from behind, two eyes with an odd mix of curiosity and annoyance.

"Why are you following me?" The creature asks in a perfectly ordinary human voice.

"I'm sure you'd have followed too, had you been in my place." Shaun drawls, but chastens his tone because he's no idea who or what he's even talking to.

The face lifts somewhat to reveal another portion of his head, his nose and a frowning mouth.

"What were you expecting to learn from me? An incantation? A spell? A magic word that would make you rich?"

"Mermaids and sirens, what's next? Are the unicorns and Godzilla real too?" Shaun is a touch frustrated but not intimidated. Not even as the merman tries to ruffle himself up to look more dangerous.

"If you look into my eyes you'll turn into stone," he hisses in a whispery voice.

"I'm already looking, wally."

The human face falls, but the merman remains silent.

"So do I get my wish now or what?"

"Do I look like a goldfish to you?"

"So I suppose not. Well, how about the general pattern of your species, your habitat, your bone structure, your Latin name, and maybe your higher and lower classification to top it off?"

"My _what_?" The human face sours up.

"Not a very bright one, are you? Got any siblings I can ask—"

A second splash of water washes over him, adding to the soaking of his clothes. Shaun spits out a mouthful of water and presses his mouth into a thin line.

The merman appears to be amused by this expression.

"Come tomorrow and I'll tell you." He says before there is another splash, and before Shaun can recover from this newest assault the creature has fled his vision.

 

* * *

 

Shaun does come the next day.

The drizzle continues, and by the time he arrives at late evening there isn't even anyone around to avoid, and the merman is already underwater. Shaun knows this because he has left his bundle of clothes on the same spot as before.

Shaun carries himself over, hidden beneath an umbrella hoping that the merman will countenance his presence, as he has no wish to get wet again. He slings off his backpack and puts to ground the sturdy blanket he had picked up at an Army-Navy store and plops down onto its cushioning surface.

The bundle of clothes—a shirt, a white hoodie and plain jeans—is partly soaked through, but Shaun begins to pick up item after item to put it into some order and semblance, lays it beneath the cover of his umbrella while he waits for the merman to announce himself.

His entrance is quiet and sleek. He emerges from water putting his forearms on the bank but keeping his lower half in the water, letting the light rain play across the expanse of his back and arms and face. They watch each other for a while wallowing in silence, before the merman reluctantly begins.

"What's your name?"

"Are we playing Questions now?"

"Answer the goddamn question."

"Shaun."

"Desmond." The merman dips his head in acknowledgement and Shaun returns the gesture because he has manners. But he also has an appetite for provocation.

"I can't believe I'm talking to a fish."

"First of all, I'm not a fish—"

"Yes, and unicorns do exist, except they're goats, right, silly."

Desmond has an I'm-not-dealing-with-this-bullshit look on his face, so expressive in its appearance that Shaun almost cackles at it.

"When I was a kid, I thought animals could talk, they just didn't want to talk to me—"

And this time it's Desmond who cuts Shaun off.

"And you call _me_ stupid."

"As a _kid_ , you git, are you deaf?"

Desmond goes into a full-blown eye roll and gives a threatening splash across the surface behind his back to quieten the red-head down.

"Humans used to be animals, too. But we've evolved into idiots," says Desmond, leaning his chin onto the join of his forearms, across a swirling tattoo, and then stills his tail movement, "I don't know any other mermen, if that is what you wanted to know. As far as I'm concerned, I'm the only one inhabiting this earth."

Shaun scowls, dissatisfied with the information, or lack thereof, but curious about Desmond's case.

"And you don't want to... I don't know, put yourself out in the wild where you belong?"

Shaun immediately knows his wording is off and he can do much better (when he's not glancing back and forth between Desmond's admittedly handsome features and naked back), and Desmond's haughty smirk is indication enough.

"You're one of those who flush goldfish down the toilet expecting them to survive and thrive aren't you?" The merman drawls, and there is a playful undulation of his tail breaching the surface in soft ripples.

Shaun fixes his glasses, hurries to keep up his dignity.

"So you basically know a whole shitload of nothing about yourself? And nothing served to hazard a guess or as a kind of Rosetta Stone?"

"What's that?"

"Never mind, Desmond."

The grounds are even once more.

"Alright. Let's cut the question down to a more modest size," Shaun hurries to go on, curiosity far outmatching the urge to sass him out, "You believe yourself the only specimen of your species and you basically don't give a bloody fig?"

"Correct."

Shaun blinks, an army of questions fighting to break from his mouth.

"But _why_? You could go into the oceans in search for your kin, or you could be a world wonder, or offer an extensive research on mind-bogging issues, or help explore the seas, or—"

Desmond props himself on an elbow and grabs onto Shaun's wildly-swinging-and-gesturing hand, the one not holding the umbrella, grips below his wrist to bring him to a stop.

"Shaun," he says, in voice serious and heavy with a wisdom that gleams beneath his careless exterior and Shaun knows he's underestimated this person, "I chose to live my life like this. I don't want people flocking to pore over me like some fancy circus act or scrutinize me to the last scale under scalpels and scanners." Desmond's brows are sunken with a pain already long borne by a prolonged loneliness, now by this suggestion to cut himself open for the world, "I'm a simple bartender living a simple life and coming for a simple swim from time to time, and I hope you understand that I don't want to play a hero or a world wonder for people who don't even understand what life is."

Shaun lets clinical curiosity die and buries it as Desmond's hold on his wrist loosens, and he feels this dead feeling replaced by a more healthy interest.

"And you know what life is about, Desmond?"

Desmond retreats into his former position, a sad-and-knowing little smile playing on his lips.

"I don't. But I don't pretend I do."

 

* * *

 

 

Shaun knows Desmond's schedule of shifts by heart.

Their respective timetables are easy enough to synchronize into meetings at least twice a week, to rally under skies heavy with night or glaring sun on busy days when no people wander out into this territory.

Shaun re-commences bringing his books or tablet along, to occupy himself while Desmond embarks on long and arduous swims in the lake after conversations.

Such are their dynamics.

They are entertained by each other's company, and when they tire of talk Shaun turns to written word while Desmond frolics around in the water, doing all sorts of trickery to pull awe (or a laugh) from Shaun. In fact, their trysts are so pleasant that Shaun seeks out Desmond's company rather than simple loneliness.

Today they meet under the sun to enjoy the last warm days of late autumn, and the sun beats down upon them with all its wrath, making Shaun sweat under the layer of his shirt. He feels itchy and twitchy when he sweats, and he keeps shifting beneath his clothes to fight it off while he browses through a string of news.

He hears Desmond before he sees him, hears the splashy music of refreshing water that beckons him like a siren's song, and he almost wishes he could join in for a swim, but he's left his trunks at home and he's not inclined to skinny-dip in broad daylight, especially not in front of Desmond (because he does have some sense of decency).

He looks up, finds Desmond leaned into his forearms and taking the sun, a new batch of rivulets slipping off him every once in a while as he keeps pouring water over himself. His eyes are closed and his forearms locked together, but Desmond dips his deep-blue tail into the water and resurfaces when his skin begins to dry, curves the end of his tail over his back and slops its summit down into a plummeting bend to encourage the water to slide down the silky texture of his fin and onto his human skin.

When Desmond has sufficiently wetted himself and grown tired of this task, he brings his tail up into a standstill to keep it above his head in an arc and protect his head under the shade provided by his wide fin. Like this, he's almost closing a full circle with the length of his body.

These movements come so natural to him that Shaun can scarcely believe the words Desmond broached last time about his late discovery of himself, about the months he had spent hiding in solitude trying to figure out the full potential of his body and the full power of his muscles. Shaun can't imagine Desmond ever being clumsy with his other half or struggling to break through water during tedious learning of how to make his tail function.

These thoughts carry him towards the direction of Desmond's body and Shaun lets his eyes wander, lured into this boldness by Desmond's drowsy expression and closed eyes. The muscles of his back are bunched under the strain of keeping his tail up as a shade, the roundish swell where his ass is supposed to be more pronounced under the arc, and Shaun wonders about mermen physiology. Because he's nowhere seen any indication of—no. Nope. Nein. Nada. Nyet. He's not touching that particular train of thought with a forty-foot-pole.

"Whatcha readin'?"

Shaun ceases inspection of Desmond's mermaid half and drops his gaze to the tablet before he can catch him doing the dirty.

"News." He offers laconically, feeling the sweltering itch beneath his shirt worming to life now that his focus isn't pulled elsewhere.

"Read some to me." Desmond asks without once opening his eyes. He settles deep into his forearm until his cheek is squashed up and his lips are childishly pouty, and lets his tail sink underwater to ease the strain from his muscles.

Shaun sighs to fill himself up with stuffy air and scrolls down in search of something worth reading out.

"Real-life Jurassic Park: Dinosaurs could be brought back to life using bird DNA..." he trails off, gauging Desmond's interest.

Desmond breaks into a derisive sort of chuckle without opening his eyes.

"Why would you want to populate the world with them? They'll kill us off."

"We are humans, Desmond, we can control them."

"We can't even control ourselves."

Oh well, he does have a point. Shaun concedes, finding it increasingly concerning that he cares less and less about being out-sassed, and grows fonder of Desmond each time the merman shows him another glimpse of himself, another insightful peek into the way he perceives the world. Desmond is only deceptively dull. Beneath that mask lies a dormant cleverness wrought with wit.

Shaun rolls his shoulders to shift his shirt, scrolls on.

"Man in India rescues kittens during a flood..."

"That's dinner."

"That's racist."

" _You_ 're racist!"

"You're a prick."

A hefty splash plummets upon Shaun's head and his jaw drops in utter vexation.

"Not on my tablet, Desmond!"

Desmond hides his grin in his forearms but the crinkle and glint of his eyes announce it clear enough, and Shaun is compellingly less amused.

"We are all in awe of your edge, Desmond." Shaun mutters out, and he has no sooner swathed his tablet in a layer of his half-soaked shirt in desperate try to dry it off when Desmond pushes off ground, keeps himself balanced one on hand as he reaches out for his arm, and Shaun has less than a blink of a moment to drop his tablet to ground before it can be pulled along into the water.

Desmond wrenches him over and pulls him under the surface with a convincing force, giving Shaun only a sliver of chance to hold his breath before they are both swallowed by water.

There is little Shaun is aware of other than he's been dragged underwater in his clothes and that Desmond his firmly holding him by the waist as they break surface and that he feels heavenly because the itch is finally gone and he feels like newly-born.

Only this itch turns into a different kind of hunch when Desmond curves his lower half forward and slips between Shaun's legs, climbs up to his thighs until Shaun is basically sitting on Desmond's tail. And the tail is as strong as it looks, flexible and coiled with a strength greater than a human's body, and Shaun is gripping onto Desmond's shoulders to keep balance while the merman smirks at him with mischief and balances him on his tail.

Shaun says nothing, offers no protest or rebuke, not even a hint of angry shouting he's entitled to, he merely feels a flush to his neck and cheeks that is easy to rouse and very visible on his pale skin.

Desmond doesn't know what he has done.

 

* * *

 

Maybe he does know.

Maybe all this is his doing, and the game he's playing is not a game but a plan long thought out. Shaun finds some comfort in clinging to that belief because it makes him feel like less of a fool. Falling in love with cheeky mermen and their splashing tails is something Shaun hasn't signed up for, and he'd rather avoid it if he could.

But he can't. Such is the business of affection, it comes uninvited and offers no compromise and often no reason as to why it visited in the first place. Shaun has fallen in love—there, he said it. To himself, of course. The rest of the world can do without his confession.

Desmond is like a drug (however reluctant Shaun is to use this comparison), like LSD that opens doors for you, while a sober mind explores the room.

And there is so much to explore that Shaun drifts off in the most inconvenient of moments to ponder what secrets Desmond's body hides—both of his bodies.

The ruddy sky is trying to collect the remaining light of a sinking sun, and Desmond has just finished his evening swim. Shaun glances up from his book without shifting his head or moving his body from the bend, follows the scene. Desmond pushes himself onto his hands, pitches forward to haul his body out and he twists, splays himself open across the ground with back laid out across the earth and low grass to Shaun's right.

His breath is deep and his torso is heaving while he pulls his tail out of water entirely and lets it transform into a pair of legs. The bluish scales wane in color with each passing moment, and morph into a shade of skin and into its texture, the mid-line sinks in until there is a gap leaving space for two legs to form, and his fin bulking up into bare feet. He lies naked across the ground after the metamorphose, legs open and crotch free for ogling.

It's not the first time Shaun has seen him naked. Probably not the last either. But the form of his body is appealing to the eye, the muscles formed from vigorous swimming giving a handsome bulk to his torso.

The air is turning chill, the days are getting colder, and Shaun wonders if he's cold, or if that's part of some magic mermaid metabolism.

"Where you spending the New Year?" Desmond breaks the silence.

"That's ages away. And the New Year hype is a construct of stupid folk who wait for a special day of the year to have fun and I feel honored that I won't conform to society's shitty norms set by peasants."

"You're such a killjoy," Desmond accuses without real bite and quite a bit of playfulness in his tone, "It's meant to share the joy with those you love."

Shaun lets the first thought that crosses his mind spill forth.

"No one exactly falls under that category."

"Oh? What a pity."

Shaun finds it difficult to pinpoint what exactly he means by that, but he doesn't ask. He watches Desmond's body to distract himself, and his next predicament starts with this visual stimulation.

"Stop staring at my dick, Hastings."

Shaun is quiet, before curiosity kills the cat.

"Do you always have a dick, Miles?"

Desmond unabashedly grins at him from upside down before he joins his feet and drops them over the rim and into the water. It takes a few moments for the transformation to kick in, but the summit of his tail is submerged inside the water and swishing playfully in response to Shaun's curiosity.

"Wanna find out?"

Shaun swallows a lump. Why yes, he actually does want to find out because he's curious, not because he wants to feel up a fish. So he shuffles over but keeps his hands in fists and resting across his lap while he's sitting on his calves. His pants may end up in some grass stains but it's little concern.

"I do not." Desmond answers, earnestly, easing himself into a confession. Shaun has guessed as much because the area where his crotch ought to be is sleek and doesn't suggest any indication of sex. Desmond crooks his finger to beckon him over, takes Shaun's hand into his.

"There's a slit, it's tight, it's concealed," Desmond explains and puts the foreign hand upon the area, but Shaun feels nothing, "It loosens if I work myself up," he goes on in a voice rich with husk. Desmond seems to be excited at the prospect of sharing this odd secret with someone else for the first time. He guides Shaun's hand, covers it with his own as he pets and strokes over the spot, in meager movement but growing pressure, probing, before Shaun feels beneath the tips of his fingers a parting of slick scales that loosens until Shaun can slip in under Desmond's insistence.

Desmond lets a quicker breath spill past his lips, but watches Shaun's face for signs of disgust, and finds only interest.

"There are tons of nerve endings in there, it's different compared to my human body, but it's a thin line between extreme pleasure and hellish agony..." He describes, explains why he can't give Shaun free reign in exploration while he guides him.

"So it's something like a risky g-spot?"

Desmond chuckles through a haze of lust, goads his fingers into applying more pressure.

"Worse. It lubricates, for starters..."

It feels no different than rubbing over the slippery body of a fish before Desmond starts to lubricate and goes into labored breathing. His torso pushes up until only his shoulder-blades are touching the ground, an expression of acute pleasure on his face as his body is worked up into a tightening and thrusting upwards into the touch of Shaun's timid fingers that are controlled by Desmond's hand. His own breathing is short but he's following the shift on Desmond's face rather than paying attention to what's happening below the waist, until he notices something like psudotrance settling over Desmond while he writhes beside him, arches up with a muffled sound of pleasure, quivers a last time before getting a hold over his motor functions and stilling the touch across the slick surface hidden behind the slit. Shaun fleetingly wonders whether an orgasm is taboo before he gets his answer.

"I'm going to blow—" Desmond cuts himself off and pulls his fingers out to let his body assume a calmer state. 

"Am I having sex with a man or a whale?" 

Desmond glares up at him, still clutching onto his soiled hand, a dusting of flush across his face.

"We're not even having sex," he argues pointedly.

"You've clearly missed the joke, Desmond."

His name seems to mellow him out and he lets Shaun's hand rest across his abdomen, doesn't cease the eye-lock.

"But maybe on the New Year?" Desmond suggests with a promise and a hint of a smirk.

"In a bathtub, I suppose?"

Desmond launches into a roll of eyes but his expression soon settles into something cottony and soft. Shaun devotes a few moments trying to unravel it and finds it laced with trust. Desmond confides in him and trusts his truth and condition into Shaun's care, and he has a lot to lose. Desmond's trust is not blind, but it crosses through enough barriers to make it a valued possession, and the stakes are high.

A fish doesn't entrust its safety into the paws of a cat, after all.

But a merman entrusts his heart into the keeping of a human, and it works out.

 


End file.
